The Path He Left Behind
The scrap of fabric fluttered weakly in the night wind, its frayed edges whispering of time and decay. Yiling's fingers hovered over it, her mind warring between disbelief and the icy weight of reality.
It was his. There was no doubt.
Her husband, the man who had left them to fend for themselves, the man she had cursed under her breath in her darkest moments—had he truly vanished into thin air? Or had something else happened?
A sharp gust of wind cut through the trees, and Yiling shivered. The footprints remained, leading deeper into the forest, swallowed by the moonlit mist.
She could go back inside, pretend she hadn't seen it, focus on surviving the way she always had. But the questions clawed at her ribs, demanding to be answered.
She took a step forward.
Then another.
The earth beneath her feet was damp, the scent of moss and pine thick in the cold night air. Her grip tightened around the knife. If this was a trap—if someone had left this here to lure her in—she wouldn't go down without a fight.
A branch snapped in the distance.
Yiling froze, heart pounding.
The wind whispered through the trees, carrying something else with it. A low sound. A groan? A breath?
She wasn't alone.
Slowly, she crouched, pressing herself against the rough bark of a tree, her senses sharpening. The sound came again, closer this time.
Then—movement.
A shadow shifted beyond the trees, staggering forward.
Yiling's breath caught in her throat.
The figure was tall, draped in tattered robes, the same color as the scrap of fabric in her hand. The posture was wrong, the movements uneven, as though every step was a battle.
Her grip on the knife tightened.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.
The figure stopped. For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then, slowly, the person lifted their head.
Moonlight fell across a face she hadn't seen in years.
Pale. Sunken. Eyes hollow, yet familiar.
Yiling's world tilted.
It was him.
Her husband.
But he wasn't the same man who had left.
His lips parted, and his voice came out like crushed leaves.
"…Yiling?"
—